


What is his life?

by ALzzza



Series: Heart of the Home [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Breakfast, Bruce Wayne and His Horde of Kids, Bruce Wayne is So Done, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce just loves his kids okay?, Cassandra Cain is an angel, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Dysfunctional Family, Family Fluff, Gen, LET THEM BE A FAMILY YOU COWARDS, Little Brothers are Shits, Tim Drake Needs to Sleep, Tim Drake and his thirty cups of coffee, all of them are tbh, hmm, idk guys, mostly - Freeform, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALzzza/pseuds/ALzzza
Summary: “Tim don’t hit your brother. Damian,please.Put the frying pandown.”For all the trouble they cause Bruce really only wants his kids to be happy and healthy. Sure, it’d be nice if they sat down every once and a while, maybe give him a moment of peace, but mostly? He’d resigned himself to their bickering a long time ago.Or, Bruce Loves His Kids, Really—He’d Just Love Them More If They Gave Him A Break Once And Awhile.





	What is his life?

**Author's Note:**

> Yayyy--more Batfam ft. mornings, cause don't we love 'em?

“Master Jason, if you would be so kind as to watch this while I check the eggs?” Bruce can hear Alfred move across the kitchen from where he’s sat at the table, steaming coffee cup in hand. He breaths in through his nose, trying to savor it as the kids patter around. It’s seven in the morning and by some miracle they’d all stayed over last night after patrol. As a result, the smaller but still fairly large kitchen and dining room they typically use in the morning is a little crowded.

 

He looks up to watch as Jason takes over the frying pan, flipping something over even as he complains loudly, “Ew. Is this that weird vegan stuff Demon Baby likes to eat—it looks like someone created it just to sit down and cry.” Bruce is fairly certain the complaint is more out of habit then any actual bad blood. The entire house is used to Damian’s vegan products at this point. Bruce is even sure Tim _likes_ them, though he likely wouldn’t admit to it on threat of death.

 

“Indeed, Master Jason.” Alfred confirms, “Those are, in fact, Master Damian’s vegan bacon strips.”

 

Jason scoffs, flipping another as he says, “Bacon strips my ass—I’d be more likely to start spewing puppies than these would be to taste like _bacon_.”

 

“Language, Master Jason.” Alfred says across the kitchen.

 

Jason looks up and grins unabashed, offers, “Sorry Alfie.” before turning back to the pan.

 

“You never know,” Dick pipes up from his seat at the table, already eating from the stack of pancakes Alfred courteously placed down earlier, “There’s such thing as magic—maybe you _will_ start spewing up puppies, it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen.”

 

Bruce grimaces down at his coffee with the reminder, but Damian seems to like the idea entirely. Puppies _and_ Jason the target of some magician’s ire; Bruce will have to watch and make sure Damian doesn’t _orchestrate_ something of the sorts. Speaking of he watches as Damian finishes his mouthful before defending his taste.

 

“Todd, you wouldn’t know good food if it had the misfortune to hit you in the face!” Damian declares loudly, standing up on his seat while banishing his fork like a sword. Something Bruce quickly noticed, is that his youngest is very nearly always ready for a fight.

 

Jason snorts, not rising to the bait for once. Just transfers the vegan bacon onto a plate with a, “Here you go Alf. They’re done.” As Damian sits back down in his seat like nothing happened. He hears Duke faintly from across the room, sat next to Cass, whisper, “He does know no one actually _cares_ what he eats right?” Cass just shrugs.

 

Alfred looks up from where he’s similarly plating the eggs and _more_ pancakes. “Your effort is much appreciated, Master Jason.” Jason looks to the table with a smirk, everyone else is sitting around waiting for more food—the look on his face simply says, _see that, I’m the favorite_. His kids look back at Jason with varying expressions, a few glares, Cass and Steph actually share a look before poking their tongues out at him in unison.

 

Jason must decide giving up the higher ground is worth it because he makes a face back at them, smiling. Bruce is unfailingly glad Jason gets on with the girls so reliably—only wishes he’d get on with his _brothers_ as well. He’ll take what he can get though, and that is definitely not a battle he wants to chance.

 

“Need help with anything else?”

 

“Please, Master Jason,” Alfred says already walking several plates to the table, “Would you grab the fruit salad from the bench?”

 

Jason nods, “Sure thing, Alfie.” Carrying over a large bowl of fruit salad as well as the vegan bacon, before sitting down. He grabs several waffles—hitting Steph’s hands away when she tries to steal them.

 

Bruce watches as Tim finally starts to perk up, hand still clutching his second coffee like a life line. He rolls his eyes lazily around the table before grabbing some fruit salad and what looks like seasoned tofu. He passes the tofu down to Damian when he’s done, already eating one handed.

 

Bruce looks to Dick and they share a glance. He obviously finds their silent exchange as amusing as Bruce does—he’s glad he doesn’t say anything, though. Fears the havoc that will unfold one of these days when someone _does_ mention Tim and Damian’s flimsy truce at the breakfast table.

 

“Steph, can you pass the toast?” Dick calls down the table, and Steph looks up, nodding around her mouthful of food. Makes a one-minute gesture even as she reaches for the toast. Duke’s hands beat her to it though; he’s already snatching two slices off the pile and throwing it at Dick.

 

Steph’s eyes meet his over the table—hand still half raised. Asks in a dry unimpressed voice, “ _Really_?”

 

“Sorry,” He replies with a shrug, not looking very apologetic. Steph just rolls her eyes, mutters something Bruce can’t make out around her fork—but guesses isn’t very complimentary.

 

Dick for his part, catches the toast out of the air with a quiet noise of success. Only has time to open his mouth then Jason’s there snatching it away. “Thanks Dickie,” He cheers, already taking a huge obnoxious bite out of the bread, grinning cheekily at Dick even as he glares—though the effect is diminished somewhat by the pout he’s sporting, looking quite put out at having his food taken.

 

“You can have mine,” Tim says, and sure enough there on his plate are two untouched pieces of toast.

 

Dick smiles, but shakes his head already reaching for the fruit salad. “Nah, it’s okay. You need to eat more, Timmy.” Tim grumbles down at his food, looking displeased with that notion but very obviously not awake enough to comment, hands still stuck to his coffee cup.

 

“ _Tt_. _Drake_ would not tear himself away from his precious caffeine if the walls fell down. His weakness is dispensable, and his addiction easily exploited—he is a liability and should be treated as such.” Damian announces, taking any chance he can to attack Tim—though his heart doesn’t seem in it as he barely looks up from his food. And now Bruce thinks about it, he looks tired. They _had_ been out on patrol a lot later than Bruce usually allowed. He’d have to make sure Robin comes in earlier tonight.

 

Tim must agree it’s too much effort because he just grunts into his coffee cup, bruises hanging under his eyes. Bruce on his part doesn’t think there’s much he could _do_ to get Tim to sleep more, short of banning him from cases and even then, he’d probably just run off to the Titans. Maybe Dick will have some idea...

 

“Aww, you guys are so cute,” Jason teases, looking amused at his sibling’s grumpiness, “Too tired to even _try_ and kill each other, what is the world coming to?”

 

Steph nods in agreement, looking charmed. “Kids these days, no motivation for murder.” Dick laughs looking pleased himself, smiles at the table with a happy little glint in his eye.

 

Bruce tunes out the rest of their conversation, eating his own food absently—mind wondering. Their bickering becoming a constant background noise as he goes over cases in his head.

 

Then, “ _Bruce_!” He peers up, mind still half on Gotham’s recent activity.

 

Lets out an absent, “Don’t fight.” Even as he takes in what’s happening.

 

Damian is standing on his chair again, frying pan aimed at Tim. Tim for his part is standing up, chair pushed back—outrage pulling at every limb as he gestures angrily. Dick seems to be _trying_ to disarm things; but everyone else is just watching absently as they eat their breakfast. Bruce feels for them, really, because the first thing that pops in his head when faced with his youngest sons giving a very good whack at injuring each other is, _where the hell did Damian get a **frypan**_?

 

“We’re not _fighting_.” Damian affirms even as he swings the frypan at Tim’s chest—Tim dodges, still glaring. Which only seems to anger Damian _more_ as he yells, jumping full tilt from his chair, frying pan raised high behind his head obviously planning on hitting Tim across the face.

 

Doesn’t get very far before Dick’s snatching him out of the air like the wayward child he _is_. Hugging him to his chest with an, “O- _kay_ —how about we just put the frying pan _down_ and—” Doesn’t finish because Damian flails aggressively, pan hitting Dick straight in the face.

 

Bruce sighs quietly, knowing Damian as he does, he’s only about _twenty-five_ percent sure it was an accident. Watches as Dick drops him—hands reaching instinctively for his noise—grimacing. Damian himself lands gracefully—stalking towards Tim again like nothing had interrupted his fight at all. “Fight me, Drake!”

 

Tim screws up his nose, “You’re like, _three_ , Demon Baby.” Damian growls, leaping towards him with his frypan firmly in hand—Tim gearing up himself, looking very ready to hit Damian in return.

 

And Bruce; well, he just resists the urge to sigh again, because he has to stop this, doesn’t he? _Finally_ stands up from the table to say calmly, “Tim don’t hit your brother. Damian, _please_ ,” God, what is his life? “Put the frying pan _down_.”

 

The boys freeze; Tim still pushing Damian’s head into the counter while Damian tries to _bite him_.

 

They break out at the same time; “I’m _defending_ _myself_ —” “If Drake hadn’t started—”

 

“I don’t care whose doing what, I’m _ending_ this. Step away from each other _now_ or—” What does he even _threaten_ them with? Bed time, maybe—chores? _Hmm_. What do they both hate doing? Ah— “You’ll be on monitor duty for a _month_.”

 

It does the trick, as they slowly slide away from each other—looking sullen. The room is silent for a while then someone starts a slow clap from behind him. Turns to see Jason grinning widely, “Wow B—I think I shed a tear, _wow_.”

 

Steph nods, wiping her eyes as she adds, “Truly inspirational, Bats.”

 

Cass nods from beside her, giving him the thumbs up. “Good job, dude.” He’s sure Steph’s the only reason she knows that word but can’t really put it past _any_ of them teaching her slang.

 

Duke snorts, “I can’t believe I ever thought you guys were _cool_.”

 

Jason smirks at him, hand to heart, “Aww, _Ducky_. I’m touched, you thought I was cool?”

 

Duke levels him a flat look in return, “No, sorry—I lied. It’s coming back though, I _definitely_ thought you were _crazy_.”

 

Jason scoffs. “Well, welcome to the _crazy_ _club_ , buddy—no takebacks.”

 

“Great.” Duke drawls dryly.

 

Bruce just sighs and it’s silent for half a second then Duke speaks up again, side eyeing Tim and Damian from his place at the table, “Maybe you guys should have like, a _Sibling Showcase_ or something _before_ you snatch someone up. You know, so they _know_ what they’re getting into, because I can tell you—I did _not_.” He pauses looks at Tim and Damian sulking frying pan between them, then adds thoughtful, “I regret _a lot_ of things.”

 

Jason huffs around his grin, adds, “Yeah B. I mean, there wasn’t that many of you when _I_ got adopted but knowing _Dickhead_ was part of the deal...” He trails of noticeably then says, “ _Yeah_ , that would’ve changed a few things.” Tim and Steph snort in unison before looking at each other and grinning. Duke looks to Cass with a smirk and she smiles back, eyes light. Damian for his part looks torn between agreeing with the sentiment and arguing with Jason on principle.

 

Dick from his place in the room screws his nose up—hands on his hips dramatically, “Wow, _rude_. Maybe _I_ should get a veto on you guys.” Turns to Bruce and says, “B, I’m sorry, but if I get anymore little siblings I swear,” He looks at all of them in turn before saying, “You guys are gonna have to start wearing name tags.”

 

Steph starts to _ooooo_ loudly, making her way bouncing across the room with her hand up—to stand in front of Dick, he accepts the high five with a smile. Laughing when Steph enthuses, “Solid counter burn, D!”

 

Bruce looks at all the kids— _his_ kids, scattered around the room and thinks, _this is his life_. Sits back down at the table, burying the smile that tugs at his lips in his coffee cup—eyes crinkling fondly, obvious to anyone in the room if they _looked_ , but they’re a bit busy—already bickering again.

 

 _This is his life_.

 

He thanks every bad decision that has brought him here; because somehow it led to this.

 

 

 

Before he knows it, everyone’s running around, getting ready for their day; Bruce has already lost track. Assures himself that he can just ask later what they’ve been up to. He knows Tim’s been working on setting up better surveillance cameras around the city with Barbara. Knows Dick’s just finished one of his bigger cases—Cass and Steph teaming up for a new one...

 

But that’s about it. He’ll admit fully that he sometimes (a lot of the time) loses track of what everyone’s doing. Damian may have a history test today, but that also could have been last week; last he checked Cass has dancing on Thursday, Friday and Tuesday—but again that could’ve easily changed. Tim’s latest fact check is always completely lost on him until he starts listening statistics of obscure topics, and the last time Jason willingly admitted what he’s reading had been four months ago.

 

He’ll ask Alfred later.

 

“Drake! I know you moved my—”

 

“I haven’t touched your stuff, Brat—”

 

“—Jason what are you _doing_?”

 

“This is how it’s meant to _go_ , Dickhe—”

 

“Hey, can you pass me the—thanks, Cass—”

 

“I swear to god if any of you touched my computer, I will literally _flay you alive_ —”

 

“We didn’t touch your computer!” Comes the shout from several places in the room, everyone stopping to glare at Steph who was grumbling _more_ threats under her breath. Something about assignments and college credits.

 

Alfred steps in smoothly; stopping Steph from truly voicing any more accusations. Leaves the room to their own devices as he asks her, “Miss Stephanie, would you like me to store some left overs for you to take home?” Bruce thinks he will continue to be in awe of Alfred for the rest of his life, knows if he even _tried_ to suggest anything of the sorts to Steph, she’d probably give him the stink eye and start sprouting something about _not needing charity, old man_. Ridiculous.

 

Now, she looks reluctant to say no, “Sorry Alfred! I have class straight up; they’d probably go bad sitting in my bag all day. Mum really liked your curry though!”

 

“Ah,” Alfred relents with a frown, “Then I shall keep them here for you to pick up after patrol, dear girl.”

 

Steph face screws up as she tries to hide a smile, quickly gives up and grins widely at Alfred. “Okay! Thanks Alfred!” She grabs her bag and is abruptly out the door—waving inattentively at the room as she leaves.

 

In the background he sees Tim wonder out of the room, another cup of coffee in hand. Seems more asleep than awake—though Bruce is sure he’s going to be working on something nonstop for the next however many hours straight.

 

Bruce turns to Cass, “You’re not going with her?”

 

Cass shakes her head at the same time Jason jumps up, informing flippant, “Nope! But _I_ am, gonna drop her off before heading out. Later Pops!” Then he’s out the door as well.

 

Bruce looks back to Cass with a frown, but she just shakes her head, smiling. He trusts she knows more than him and lets it go. He likes to think Jason will tell one of them before heading out of Gotham even if it isn’t _him_. Usually, he’s proven right. Sometimes it amazes him how much they all seem to know about their sibling’s whereabouts and what they’re doing, even when they’re fighting each other.

 

Thinks of the last time Jason ran out of Gotham; somehow ending up in Western Australia with Roy, they’d blown up a dozen buildings on the shore line—something about alien sharks and Superman. The only reason he even _knew_ about this incident in particular is because they’d hijacked the zeta tubes Bruce had very nearly forgotten were _there_ to flee the national incident they’d caused.

 

Bruce has never been more relived Jason doesn’t openly associate with Batman and Co. in his _life_. The disaster that would have brought down on JL’s head is enormous. He’s not too worried about the various prices on Red Hood’s head—it’s not much more than _usual,_ and Jason’s very good at getting out of the situations he causes. Has to be, with his skill for antagonizing everyone; from enemy to ally, into violence.

 

Bruce takes comfort that that talent isn’t saved purely for himself and Jason’s siblings. It’s surprisingly reassuring.

 

“Okay,” Dick speaks up cheerfully, aiming a smile at them as he walks to the doorway, “Well I’m gonna head out too. I’ll take Dami to school, Alfred. It’s on the way.” Bruce doesn’t think it being _out of the way_ would stop Dick very much—he’d happily add hours to his commute if it meant taking Damian to school, Bruce doesn’t mention this though. It’s endearing however much impractical.

 

Damian is already walking towards him—looking insulted on principle, “I don’t need you _coddling_ me, Grayson. I am not a _child_.”

 

“Sure, Little D. Come on, I bought my car.”

 

“ _I’ll_ drive.”

 

“You’re a minor, that’s _illegal_.”

 

“I know _how_.”

 

“No. Dami, I’m not letting you—”

 

There voices trail off as they walk away leaving Duke, Cass and Bruce alone in the kitchen; Alfred having disappeared to who knew where.

 

Bruce looks at them in turn, before getting up himself, “Do either of you need a ride? I can drop you on my way to work.”

 

He doubts they would still be here if they had somewhere to be—would’ve happily conned their siblings into dropping them off if they did. Still, they seem to appreciate the sentiment, looking at each other then back at Bruce. Duke aims a crooked smile his way, “Nah, it’s cool. We were just gonna spar downstairs anyway...” He trails off, like Bruce is suddenly going to speak his objection to them sparring. Adds only when Bruce doesn’t, “Thanks for the offer.”

 

Cass aims one last smile his way then they’re sliding out the door, too.

 

Bruce stands alone in the kitchen, the room starkly quite compared to minutes before. Thinks of a time when that was the constant; silence in this huge empty house. Wonders how he could ever stand it—how he could stand it without the quiet patter of feet, and now the constant voices echoing life into the walls.

 

“Ah, brooding so early in the morning, Master Bruce? Sully my shock, wonders never seest to amaze.” Bruce looks up to find Alfred back in the kitchen, tray of tea in hand. Barely glancing his way as he continues to fiddle with the tea cups. “Though I suppose, you _are_ Batman.”

 

Bruce very maturely does not roll his eyes. “I’m not brooding.”

 

“No, I’m sure you were hurrying out the door, so you weren’t terribly late for work, sir.”

 

He makes a very clear noise of denial in his throat, “I can’t be late. I _own_ the company.”

Alfred peers up at him, expression politely doubtful. “Of course, the board members forsaken to wait for your arrival will surely understand.”

 

Bruce makes another sound of displeasure but otherwise doesn’t say anything. What’s the point of owning a company if he can’t be late? Looks at Alfred more fully before asking, “Do you know what the boys are up to today?”

 

Alfred raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t comment, answering the question simply, “Master Tim is working on some coding for Miss Barbara, he is on his last cup of coffee before I switch him to decaf, sir. He has not slept for several hours in quite so many days.” Bruce hums in approval as Alfred continues, “Master Damian is working on a school project with Mister Colin and has since been despairing the general lack of competence the American Education System holds.”

 

Bruce doesn’t doubt that, asks instead, “Are they working on it here?”

 

“Yes, Master Bruce. He has already declared his intent.” Alfred waits a moment for Bruce to interrupt again, continues when he only nods, “Master Dick has previously said he will be late for patrol checks so he may acquire some groceries. Though the boy’s diet will surely consist of little but cereal.” Alfred sounds so disapproving at Dick’s diet Bruce can’t help but let a smile twitch up his lips. “I’m sure Master Jason will be out of Gotham for several weeks and he has forewarned not to bother him unless, quote ‘someone dies, and not even then,’ unquote.” Alfred levels a very unimpressed look his way like this is somehow Bruce’s fault.

 

“Master Duke is taking a day off, sir—himself and Miss Cassandra are going out with Miss Stephanie after her classes, I’m sure.”

 

Bruce nods. He wasn’t going to ask after Cass but appreciates it all the same—after all, he loves and knows his only daughter will most likely end up with Stephanie. Trusts her more than anyone not to set the city on fire.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

This, Bruce thinks, is what irony looks like. He’s staring at the news, Steph and Cass by his side—the former shifting around nervously while Cassandra just watches his reaction.

 

“—Breaking News; a fire was started in downtown Gotham, earlier tonight—the cause is yet unknown, Gotham City Police are refusing to comment but several eyewitness accounts report Black Bat and Batgirl were spotted near the scene. This is what they have to say.”

 

“It was so cool! I was just getting off my late shift and—” The young woman on screen continues to gush but Bruce tunes it out. Closes his eyes and breaths deeply for several seconds.

 

Can’t even manage that in peace before Steph is speaking, “I swear it was an accident! We were just going to _look_ at the warehouse!” She looks to Cass before continuing in a rush, “We heard a scream! And—”

 

Cass breaks in, still watching Bruce, says, “It was fun.”

 

Steph looks to her betrayed, “Cass!” Continuing through gritted teeth, eyeing Bruce warily, “You are _not helping_ —"

 

Bruce feels like sighing, because she kind of _is_. He’s always found it hard to stay mad at his kids, especially when sometimes all he can manage is that treacherous part of him that just feels insanely _proud_ of all his children. Some parents, he hears, only feel proud of their kids when they get a good report card or say something particularly insightful—not him though. Sure, he gets all that _too_ but mostly it’s just all the vague disapproving he can rack up on top of pride when they cause _thousands of dollars in property damage_.

 

He resists the urge to sigh _again_. Tunes back into where Steph is still trying to explain away the whole affair but isn’t managing much more than digging her hole deeper, and reassures; technically it wasn’t their _fault_. They were trying to do the right thing—the warehouse exploding just happened to be a casualty of that fact.

 

He doesn’t feel very comforted.

 

He looks up at Cass and she rewards him with a small smile, eyes bright and happy. That’s another thing Bruce has always had trouble with—how is he meant to stay mad at them when they smile like that? When they’re _happy_ —all these kids have had rough enough childhoods, any number of terrible things happen to them and here they are, somehow gathered around him, gracing him with smiles like that. How is he meant to stay mad?

 

He lets a thin smile twist up his lips in response. Pays no mind to Steph when she stops talking abruptly, mouth falling open. Let’s the smile stay, a warm feeling filling his chest even as she side eyes Cass—whispers from the corner of her mouth, “What is _happening_?”

 

 _Yes_ , he thinks, watching them—how is he meant to feel anything but pride when his kids are standing there like that?

 

Thinks of the boys, thinks of Barbara—for all the problems they cause, all the mistakes they make—they’re still _here_ , next to Bruce trying to do the right thing. They still smile at him like so—eyes so carefree and _happy_ just for a moment. Like every terrible thing in the world has disappeared, how is he meant to feel anything but pride?

**Author's Note:**

> Pheww--There we go! Finished the next one for you guys, I hope you like! I think I might just go through all their POVs... and yeah.
> 
> Anywayyy, I hope you enjoyed this!! As always _comments _; they are my only reason for being. Seriously! Hit me up and I'll love you forever! ;))__


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